The Forbidden Fruit
by devi0usangel
Summary: Sarasa is the princess destined to marry the red king. Little did she know, he was not the same person she fell in love with.


I was told that when I was born, I was given a great celebration. My parents had held a magnificent banquet which only the finest from nobles of Japan were able to attend. Though I can not remember the occasion at all, I was told the story so many times that it feels like a solid memory to me now. The whole country was engraved with the memory of my birth as if it were a national holiday. The refined artist of the Edo area was summoned by my father to paint a portrait of me in the gathering. It was an extraordinary painting. No one would expect less from Nagi, himself. Each stroke of paint displayed the detail of my lavishing smooth silk cloth I was framed in. I was told that it was specially imported for this occasion. It was cream colored cloth with maroon flowers that looked as if they were in constant motion. On top of that, Nagi had painted what I was covered with, and what looked as if it were the softest cloth coverlet in the world. It was a shade of pink that went perfectly with the maroon flowers, while making my flushed baby face look even more impressive. This painting was hung in a gold frame in the middle of our dining area, but later moved to my room in the second palace. Every time I saw this painting, I was inspired to meet Nagi in person one day. Father said that no matter who he had summoned to get me on paper that day, I would still not be able to see the true beauty that I was glowing with as a baby. Father, however knew how attached I was to the painting, so he would constantly promise me that on my twelfth birthday, when I would grow up to be a woman and marry the prince, he would call Nagi to paint a wedding portrait and I would be able to talk with Nagi. Of course, by the time I reached the age of twelve, my father was long gone, leaving only his empty words. When the prince had ordered for Nagi to come, Nagi was assassinated for association with the royal family by a gang of rebelling civilians.

Now here I am thinking of my father, when I told myself I wouldn't think of him no matter how desperately lost I was. I am deserted by the very people that would celebrate my birthday as if it were a birthday greater than their own child. Right now all I can do is wait for that man to come out and … and what? I really don't know. Sometimes there are questions that are best left unanswerable.

When I was five I would take walks with the prince in our garden. The garden was a present from the prince's mother. She wanted us to be able to walk around in fresh air, instead of inside the palace gates. I had never left outside the place I was told to stay, be it a nobles mansion, or one of the island houses. I believed that I loved that garden only because it was full with the wonders of the world. Every year the Queen would add more to our collection of rare flowers and herbs. In truth, however, the real reason this garden was sacred was because it was a place where I was not the pearl of the royal family locked in a clam, but a regular girl talking hand in hand with her best friend, which at that time did not have to act like the royal prince, heir to the throne. The one place I could go freely, without any chains was our secret garden. A secret that was shared between only the three of us. I could trust myself to keep a secret mostly such an important one that concerned me. The prince liked to brag a lot to others about all that he had, just like the other noble families' sons. This secret, however, he never let slip. I was so happy with him, but like me, I believe now that he also saw the garden as an escape from reality. His mother, the Queen, I knew I could trust with my life. She was the kindest person I knew, just like my father. However, I would always be able to tell that her eyes also carried the same loneliness of that of my fathers. I knew why my father was lonesome for he had lost mother when I was just two, but the Queens' loneliness I could never understand until now. Then, I would think, how she, the queen of all of Japan, could have any form of sadness. If I could have realized how much distress I was actually feeling, I would have realized that the queen was going through more than I could imagine.

I sigh. These memories aren't helping me find peace I need right now. I'm sitting here leaning on the stone walls of the castle, being pelted by thick droplets of rain, and all I can think of are memories of my secret garden, the garden that has been left untended. Imagine all this rain pouring down on it. I sigh again. Most of the flowers would be dead by now anyway. They are all rare and need special treatment. They are like me; they cannot survive unless they are babied by others. In the end the flowers and I both ended up left to rot by the ones who took us in their care. The only rare plant that I can imagine to have survived would be the rare fruit tree.

The tree was brought from the lands of the barbarians' that were said to live up north. The Queen said that this tree could withstand any weather, no matter what, for up north the weather was quite unpredictable. The Queen also said, in the same week that she had brought this tree, that neither the prince nor I were allowed to eat anything from the garden. She explained that she had planted many herbs in the garden that could harm us. She also said that if there was anything we craved she would demand it for us. For the next years we had watched the tree grow, and saw it grow its fruits for the first time. Since the Queen had warned us not to take in anything from the garden, I had never really wanted to eat anything from the garden. The herbs, I knew would do me no harm, as the Queen had said they would, but neither would they benefit me while I was in good health. The fruits that grew in the garden, I had already tasted at least once, but the fruits that grew from the rare fruit tree were a mystery. No one had ever even been able to see these fruits in Japan, other than the queen, the prince, and I of course. I was lucky enough to see this spectacular fruit with it odd pedal looking surface and unidentifiable shade of violet. I was greedy, though. When the tree had actually started to grow fruits for the first time, the prince and I restrained ourselves, but once in our walks, the fruits looked so ripe and ready to eat, we could not control ourselves. We were seduced by the fruit. If I had ever gone through torture as a child, it was at that time, when I fought against the queens orders. I know for a fact that the fruit tasted wonderful, for both the prince and I had eaten more than we told ourselves we would. A bite turned into two, and two into three. But, after that incident I would recall that the fruits tasted horrible. I would not speak to the Queen for a week, until the prince told me that the fruit was nothing. It didn't hurt us, so we shouldn't feel guilt. Two months later my father passed away, and the Queen took me under her care, placing me in the room in the same hall as hers in the second castle.

Hum. Wow. Now that I think about it, I too was a betrayer. I betrayed the Queens trust, and pushed the matter away as if it were nothing after a few days had passed. No better than that man.

In our wedding day, we held a strictly private wedding. The prince wanted it to be opened to all the nobles so that everyone could see his grand wife. Something I couldn't believe happened that day, I was jeweled and fancied even more than I was when I as was set to the room the Queen had given me, room that I had long accepted as my own. The wedding was under special protection, even from many noble families, mainly because the king had just returned from a political conference to attend. On his way back he was being targeted by a rebellion group that had tried to assassinate him many times. I didn't know why people, mostly his own people, wanted to kill him. Even if I was considered a woman now and was getting married, I did not understand the conflicts that rose between the king and his people. All I saw that day, was the fact that Nagi, an innocent person, was killed just so he could come and paint a picture for me. Though I was never able to meet Nagi face to face, I still received the bouquet of roses that were found in the wagon he was traveling on. They were placed in the dressing table of my new room in the main castle. They contained a card written to me. It read- My Love, last time I had seen you were only an infant. You were born into a wonderful family and you were fascinated by the world that surrounded you. I still remember how you keep looking at everyone eyes, looking deep into their souls. The first and last baby I had ever painted was you, and will always be you. I learned through my paintings something I had forgotten after living in this world, that we are essentially pure and innocent. I hope that you can stay like that, just as in my painting, no matter how impossible that is. I wish that in your married life, you may seek the happiness you deserve, and that you may be able to face the hardship of the path you have chosen. From yours Nagi.

At that time when I read that letter I had cried so much, for I had felt as if his death had come because of me. I had never seen the warnings of that letter. Nagi, the man I had never met, was not only an artist but an intellectual person. Drenched wet, I can finally understand him like I wanted to.

The first two years of our marriage was amazing. The prince treated me better than any princess had ever been treated. When I was in the middle of my fifteenth year, however, something terrible happened. The Queen was murdered. No one knew why she was killed, for she had no political power. However, it changed the prince. He was in deep depression. He would not talk or eat. I was sent back to the second castle, for my own protection, protection from the prince. The prince would come home broken and unconscious. Though I didn't know why, for he would never try to hurt me, or so I thought. The prince would come home always smelling foul. He smelled like cheap alcohol, not the fine wine from the palace, but like commoners beer. The prince changed so much, while the king was the same as ever. For the next year I couldn't deny, even to myself, the fact that I was lonely. I would walk along the hallways, only to find myself walk through the Queens bedroom and find it empty. Next thing I knew, the prince's uncle was found dead with the same cut marks as the queen's. That very day the king's most loyal general was accused by the king himself as the murder of the king's brother and wife. The man was beheaded in front of the whole city. A month later, Prince called me back to our room. He was different from before. He smiled and talked, but still in a way I couldn't recognize my prince talking. If anything, it felt as if my prince had grown apart from me. He would present me with more gifts than he ever did. The smallest thing from my mouth would trigger the purchase of useless items. Though I was used to getting things from him, the prince was showering me with presents in a way that made me feel as if he were buying them, not for the love towards me, but in fact, just because he could.

The rain seems to have lightened. Now that I do not feel anything, I clench my fists to relax my inner self. I am left in vain, for nothing can relax my heart. And then I see it. A rose, a red rose. It has been left discarded by the world. I close my eyes shut tight, just to open them again. I am so stupid, not everything is helpless like me. I pick up the rose, cutting myself against one of the thorns. I smile a disturbingly sad smile. Yes, even if everything is not like me, this rose is. It is delicate and needs the most protection. Most importantly it is beautiful; the Queen of flowers, but it is so very dangerous. Yes, this blood red rose is just like me. I think of the rose banquet that caused the spilling of the blood of a man I would never get to know. I think of all that has been done to my nation. I clench my fist again, but this time with a rose stem in the middle. I open my fist to find blood pour down my wrist through many cuts on my palm. Rain drops try to wash away my blood, but my blood seems too thick. I watch the blood spill. I sigh. I am so pitiful. With my head against the stones, I look up towards the rain, letting it wash away as much dirt from my heart as possible.

When I was eighteen and the prince was finally twenty, the age required for him to be able to be counted as a legitimate heir to the throne, the king fell ill suddenly. In his death bed the king told me that he was unsurprised with his sudden illness and was happy that his son would finally be king. When the prince was crowned king, the prince looked tired. I asked him later that night, when we were in bed, if he was feeling well. Looking at the ceiling he replied, "I do not know what precisely I am feeling. It is not sadness for the death of the previous king, nor is it joy for the succession I have acquired." I, trying to lighten the mood, joking replied, "You should set your act straight, for now you have your own nation to lead." To this, he turned to me and smiled, and whispered, "My own nation…how interesting."

I hear footsteps approaching. Footsteps full with power. Yes. That was his feet hitting the ground, for only one man could walk with pride in a time of corruption. I clutch my rose harder, drawing more blood and preparing myself for the real pain yet to come.


End file.
